With sorrowful lamentations I am in such a heat.
Ah my heart! how for him it doth sorrow!
Nay, I have done in faith now, and God give you good morrow!
Ha, ha, weep! nay, laugh, with both hands to play;
The king through his cruelty hath made him away.
But hath not he wrought a most wicked deed?
Because king after him he should not proceed,
His own natural brother, and having no more,
To procure his death by violence sore;
In spite because his brother should never be king,